KUNPENG_DING

In the power meat grinder that is Washington, D.C., the Blackstone Group controls political scavenger Emily Watson through barcode tattoos. When avenger Victor Stone scorches her skin with an electromagnetic pulse, a dying Emily scans the barcode on her collarbone, accidentally activating a nerve gas canister buried in an underground pipeline on Capitol Hill.Within 72 hours, a toxic fog containing genetically-targeted technology envelops Washington, specializing in killing politicians registered in the DNA bank. Victor discovers that the biochip under his burn scar is counting down, and a jailed and reborn Adam Crawford holds the key that will shut off all the gas valves-but that will permanently lock tens of billions of the Blackstone Group's dirty money into a blockchain tomb. The trio must choose from the ruins of power: destroy all evidence and be reborn, or save their arch-enemy in exchange for a filthy immortality.

black balance sheet

Victor Stone's crocodile-skin shoes tread across the marble floors of 11 Wall Street, the heels of which hide miniature memories cut from 0.2-carat blood diamonds. Here $27 billion dollars a minute flowed through his retina-authenticated account, swirling away all the moral wreckage like the Nile washing over the Pharaohs' tombs.

"Mr. Stone, your 'charitable foundation' has an annualized return of 387%," the CFO's Gucci frames reflected sixteen surveillance feeds, "but the SEC might wonder why our crude oil futures trades always know the coordinates of Middle Eastern drone strikes three minutes in advance."

Victor spun the tail ring, the sapphire of the ring cracking into a spiderweb pattern. Nanoprojections projected on the other man's iris images of his wife cheating on him at his Barbados villa." Tell the Wall Street Journal we're training AI to predict geopolitical risks." He licked the caviar off the corner of his mouth, "Just like Long Term Capital Management did in 1998-but this time we've really tamed the devil."

The temperature in the underground vaults was kept at a perpetual 13 degrees Celsius, the optimal environment for hiding corpses. Victor brushes past rows of cold bitcoin wallets, molded into miniature models of Capitol Hill, each brick engraved with a senator's Social Security account number. As his customized suit brushed the "Office of the Majority Leader," an alarm suddenly went off-not for him, but for the FBI agent trying to hack into the system.

"Game on." Victor smiled softly into the vent. Three hours ago, he'd installed a nerve gas spray device here, which was currently flowing down the central air conditioning to the JP Morgan Chase president's luncheon box. The Revenge Fund had received another four hundred million dollars into its coffers from some oil tycoon who had suddenly changed his will.

Chapter 3. Vulture balance sheets